A Hard Lesson
by JantoJones
Summary: Illya finds himself in an unsavoury teaching position.


**You should be aware that this story involves torture, but doesn't go into too much detail.**

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Illya didn't need to open his eyes to know he was in trouble yet again. He just hoped his partner had managed to get their informant clear and to safety, otherwise his self-sacrifice would have been in vain. Who would rescue you him if Napoleon hadn't managed to get away? From what he could feel, Illya was not going to be able to free himself.

With his eyes still closed, Illya tested his bonds. He could tell he was shackled face down, in a spread-eagled position, on a tilted surface. What disturbed him more was the fact he could feel the air against most of his skin and cold metal against his groin. He was naked. Illya finally opened his eyes and verified what he had already postulated. Twisting his round, he realised he was in a lot more trouble than he'd first thought.

He was in some sort of classroom and seated at the desks were eight men and women. They were all studying him intently. Behind them was an older man who was obviously teaching the group. To one side of the room, two THRUSH guards were stood, with their weapons raised. It didn't take a genius to work out that Illya was going to be an important part of whatever was about to be taught.

"Welcome Mr Kuryakin," the older man said, with a sinister smile. "I do hope you're comfortable."

Illya rolled his eyes in a bored manner. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, still a little groggy from whatever had knocked him out. "I hadn't realised I would be attending a class today. I didn't bring any preparatory notes."

The teacher came and stood next to the captured agent.

"I am Hugo Frost," he snarled. "You may call me Sir."

He turned back to his students.

"You are all extremely privileged," he began. "This is the famous Illya Kuryakin. You have all read his dossier and know him to be one of U.N.C.L.E.'s top agents. In previous interrogations, he has proved to be stubborn and resilient. This is what will make him a perfect teaching aid for you. I will be able to demonstrate many techniques of persuasion before he succumbs to his inevitable death."

Illya lived with fear on a daily basis, but was usually able to keep it in check. Anyone who claimed they weren't afraid in this job was either lying or psychopathic. Being used as a teaching aid in a torture lesson took him beyond fear. Illya could just about accept torture as part of a mission, but this was something he hadn't signed up for. The worst part was knowing that there was no objective to it. There would be no end until he either died or rescue came. He could only pray that the rescue would arrive soon.

"This is a cat o' nine tails," Frost said, as he showed it implement to the class. "It is so called because of the nine braided leather tails. If you look closely, you will see each tail has a knot in the end. All designed to inflict as much pain as possible. We won't spend too much time with this, as I know Mr Kuryakin can endure the cat for quite some considerable time."

Even though he was expecting it, the first sting still stocked Illya and he grunted with the pain. Frost started off with a demonstration of how to correctly aim the cat, before moving on to describing which areas of the back were the most sensitive. The exercise took twenty minutes, by the end of which, Illya was gasping and shaking. Frost called the guards and instructed them to turn Illya over. The Russian tried to fight them off, but they had the advantage. They slammed him against the platform, causing a white hot pain from his shredded back to consume him and he lost consciousness.

Unfortunately for Illya, he returned to wakefulness within a matter of minutes. What he saw when he opened his eyes again made his earlier fears seem frivolous. His captor was setting up some very industrial looking electrical equipment. Illya's blood seemed to freeze and he became even more aware of his, now exposed, lower extremities. The pain that was coming was going to make the flogging seem like a tickle.

It took thirty-five minutes for Illya to pass out again. Thirty-five minutes in which the class learned the best places on the body to electrocute a person without killing them; even being allowed to have a go themselves. Illya had had electricity used on him in the past but it was much worse in unskilled hands. It hadn't been long before the screaming had started; something a giggling Frost seemed to take great delight in. Unconsciousness couldn't have come soon enough for Illya.

While he was out, Frost explained to the students the need for finesse and control.

"Anyone can cause pain," he told them. "But, it takes skill to know just how much a man can take. You don't want your subject to have a heart attack before he gives up his secrets. You must also learn to control your temper. Mr Kuryakin here is renowned for goading his torturers and causing them to lose control. That is when mistakes can happen."

A moan from behind let him know that his captive was awakening. He waited until Illya was aware enough to understand him before he spoke again.

"You shall be pleased to know that we have finished with electrics," he informed the stricken man. "The next lesson is on the subject knives."

Illya watched cagily as Frost picked up a relatively small knife and showed to the, all too eager, students.

"Part of this course is for you to fully understand human anatomy," he informed the class. "Knowing where and how deep to cut the flesh is a skill you should all learn. You want to avoid arteries, as this will cause your victim to expire very rapidly. A slow bleed is ideal to weaken and disorientate, but can also be treated fairly easily so your subject can be questioned again."

Without warning he suddenly slashed Illya across the right side of his chest. Illya gasped and struggled to keep his breathing under control. Blood instantly blossomed from the wound, but not enough to be of immediate concern.

"As you can see, it is quite painful and will remain so until treated," Frost continued. "The wound is actually quite superficial, and were Mr Kuryakin to survive, it would leave no scar."

Breathing through his nose, Illya desperately tried to stave off a panic attack which was threatening to overwhelm him. He fought against the chains that held him, knowing that there wasn't a chance of escape. The humiliation he felt at being naked and tormented was heightened by the sound of laughter. The students found it incredibly amusing that Kuryakin was even trying to free himself. Surely the man would find it easier just to submit.

The knife flashed again and left a shallow gash just above the Russian's left hip. Illya cried out. Having not yet recovered from being electrocuted, the pain from the cuts was too much, and he once again fell into blessed darkness. Before he became completely insensible, Illya was vaguely aware of a commotion in the room, guns being fired and lots of shouting.

He awoke to find himself being loaded onto a helicopter. Inside the aircraft he was greeted by the worried yet happy face of his partner, who was reassuring him that he was going to be ok.

"Napoleon," Illya whispered. "I quit."

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Only four hours later, Illya had argued himself a discharge from medical, with strict instructions to take three days leave. Ignoring the orders completely, he went to the office he shared with Napoleon and immediately got to work on his report. He didn't say anything to his partner, who was seated at his own desk.

"Did you mean it?" Napoleon asked, eventually.

"Mean what?" responded Illya, without looking up.

"That you quit."

The Russian glanced up at Napoleon and, for a long time, said nothing.

"Yes," he finally replied. "But not yet."

"After what you went through today, I wouldn't blame you."

Illya shrugged. "We are trained to endure and overcome torture, though I won't pretend that I am fine, because I'm not."

Napoleon was surprised. It was a rare thing for Illya to admit to that sort of thing. He would whinge and moan constantly about minor ailments, but would claim to be fine when he was half dead.

"I shall take myself out of the field for a few days," Illya continued. "Maybe catch up on some paperwork."

Solo knew full well that the doctors would have ordered medical leave, but didn't push the issue. The fact Illya was voluntarily offering to do light duties showed Napoleon just how vulnerable his partner was feeling. Any other time, he would throw himself back into work no matter what medical ordered him to do.

"How about dinner, on me?" He offered, knowing how much a quiet meal with a friend meant to the Russian. "Do you feel up to it?"

Illya smiled, grateful for a partner who knew how to read him.

"That would be very agreeable Napoleon. Thank you."

Maybe a couple of hours of good conversation would be enough to offset the nightmares he knew he would be having that night.

The end.


End file.
